


Stuck in Reverse

by QueenOfSpades



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfSpades/pseuds/QueenOfSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling, falling, falling. Always falling, never stop. And as she fell, she saw him fall too. Only this time, she caught him when he fell. Allonswin multi-chapter. Doctor!whump and fluff. Echo!Clara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own. My first Allonswin fic, so do tell me if I've got them right? Reviews are love! xx

He stumbled through the doors of his beloved ship and slammed them shut behind him, sagging against the doors with a groan. Reluctantly, he moved to get up. At once he abandoned the effort; it was all he could do to hold back a cry as white hot pain blossomed in his left shoulder. Nonetheless, a sharp cry escaped breathless lips. Tension took hold of his limbs, and he sank back against the doors, bereft of what little strength he’d had before. 

He didn’t dare move again until time had passed and the pain receded to a dull throb. Even then, it was with some hesitation that he reached up with his right arm and snaked it over his shoulder, probing his injured shoulder for a wound of any sort. His fingers found naught but a warm sticky substance he recognized on the spot. Blood, and his own by the look of it. Several levers on the console flipped of their own accord, and the ship began to make her dematerialization sounds. “Not this time, Old Girl,” he said softly. The weariness in his tone was evident in the lines of his face as he gazed at the familiar console. If only he could rest his hands on it, feel the thrumming of a life beneath his palms. He couldn’t reach it just now; he lay too far away, and the effort to get up the time before had been taxing.

The ship gave a low almost dejected hum by way of response. He listened to the sound, despite the age-old ache it brought to his hearts. The exhaustion of endlessly saving worlds, galaxies, universes that couldn’t have cared less finally now reached him. He felt it in his bones, in the four-beat rhythm beneath his breastbone and in the grey haze lingering at edges of his psyche.

He was tired, so very tired.

After a moment longer, he reasoned with himself that he couldn’t do much good lying on the floor of his Tardis, and it certainly didn’t do her any good either. On the mental count of three, he closed his eyes, grit his teeth together and forcefully pushed himself back on his feet. He took shaking steps forward, one foot after the other until he’d reached the console. He tried—he really tried to hold himself upright the moment his hands hit the warm metal. However, the jolting impact, as small as it was, reverberated up his left arm and sent blazing hot agony licking through his veins. The world before him flickered, blackness lapping like waves at the edges of his vision.


	2. Falling

Everyone else was either asleep or simply not at the observatory that evening. Everyone but the young woman carefully making her way up the winding staircase leading to the upper level of the observatory. She was a petite, pretty creature with a small figure and a round face. Her long, chestnut brown tresses were pulled back in a reddish-orange headband and fell about her shoulders in lush waves. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were small and bordered by thick black lashes. 

She smoothed her hands over well-worn jeans and slid her hands into the pockets of her brown leather blazer as she stepped out onto the roof, lifting her eyes up toward the starry black expanse over her head. She’d brought a mug of tea with her along with a blanket to keep warm. She chose a place to sit and lay down on her belly, wrapping the blanket around herself and curling her fingers around the mug.

As she leaned down to take a sip, a bright flash of light winked in and out of the sky. The sight startled her enough, and having forgotten the tea, she propped herself up on her elbows. The light seemed to dance back and forth in violent, spinning motions.

”What in God’s name—?” The light began to get brighter and larger as it drew near. She turned on a heel and ran back towards the stairs to escape whatever it was. It flew over her head just as she jumped onto the stairs. Scared out of her wits, she tilted her head up to get a glimpse of the object. Her brows pulled together in a frown. Her brain, and her eyes were telling her that she now saw a police box. A police box? What on earth, she wondered to herself.

As if that weren’t enough, the box seemed to make a weird, whining vworp as it moved, and the light atop it had begun to flash. “Bloody hell.” Right before her eyes, the box’s doors flew open as it pitched sharply. A dark mass tumbled out of it, and the sound that followed couldn’t have been mistaken for anything but a wounded cry. Her brows shot up in surprise. A human cry? Daring another look out, she spotted the crumpled mass several feet away from her, as well as the box which had landed calmly on the edge of the roof. 

She hesitantly crawled back out onto the roof and approached the figure. She dropped to her knees beside it and reached out tentatively to roll the figure onto its back in order to get a better look at it. It was a man, from the looks of it. A man who had definitely taken a beating. The movement elicited a groan from the man, but his eyes remained closed, and his body made no other movement besides her own adjustment. She pressed two fingers to his neck and felt for a pulse. Her fingers were met with a pounding, nearly erratic rhythm—unnaturally fast for the human heart. She shifted her hand from his neck to his forehead, resting her palm there for any signs of a fever or other illness. The skin was surprisingly hot to the touch and confirmed her suspicions of a fever. “Hospital it is then. Something wrong with you,” she muttered half to herself, and half to the man. 

He shifted just a little in her hold, letting a muffled, “No” fall past his lips. “N—no hospital.” She nearly gave a start to hear the man speak and glance down at him, brushing her hair over one shoulder and out of the way.

“Yes hospital. You just fell out of a police box. You’ve got a fever and you’re injured,” she remarked with some determination. Now the man began to move as if to get up. He’d started to slide out of her grasp, but she held him fast, tugging backwards to keep him from getting away. “You! You aren’t going anywhere. Not until I call the police.” The man stopped struggling to look at her, frowning at her for a good long moment before breaking into a short burst of laughter.

“Box falls out of sky, man falls out of box. And all you can worry about is getting me to the hospital?” He chuckled, running a hand through his spiky brown hair as he watched her in wonderment. “You don’t even know what I am. You’re so human.” At this point, she completely froze and slowly turned her gaze on him, not sure if she’d heard him right. Leaning forward somewhat, she watched him with a guarded glimmer in her dark eyes.

“You called me human. I am human. Aren’t you?”

“Me? Blimey, can’t risk telling you. Not yet at least. For all I know, you could bloody well be a—”

“A what?” She arched an eyebrow even higher. Her heart skipped a few beats as she heard the man speak about her or himself as if he weren’t….as if he weren’t human. It was beginning to frighten her, but not the kind of debilitating fear. It was the sort of fear that hit one just before a grand adventure or endeavor, the precursor to an adrenaline rush. She’d craved that as a little girl; after all, she’d always been the bravest one out of her tight knit friends growing up. “Answer me. What are you? I’m human. Completely and only human. I saw you fall out of the sky from a whirling, flashing box. That is not human.”

“I’m the Doctor.”


	3. Only Human

“Doctor of what exactly?” She questioned, letting go of him now. She settled into a crouch, rocking on her heels.

“Well, I dabble, if I’m to be honest,” he replied, making another attempt to get up. As he pressed down on the ground to give himself leverage to get up, pain shot through his arm and blazed in the vicinity of his shoulder injury. He bit back a shout and immediately abandoned the effort, curling into himself and cradling his arm. The girl only watched, wide-eyed and caught between wanting to help the man and being unsure of what exactly to do.

 

“I’m Clara, by the way. Clara Oswald. Fine, no hospital. Getting that. But even I can see, that looks like it hurts,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She closed the distance between them and stood over the man, concern written on her face. He tilted his head up to look at her, only giving her a nod in response.

 

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Oswald. Are you squeamish?” he added in afterthought, holding her gaze. She slowly shook her head, her brows pulling together in a frown. The look in his eyes was beginning to scare her; she saw desperation in them, as if his life depended on her answer. Perhaps it does, she mused.

 

“No, but, listen, buddy, if you need me to take a look at whatever happened to you…” She kept her gaze on him as she spoke, but trailed off when the desperation she’d seen only moments before was replaced with hopelessness. He shut his eyes with a dejected sigh and muttered something to himself about a slim chance of survival. “What’s that you said? Slim chance of survival? What even happened to you? I still don’t know,” she remarked, folding her arms over her chest.

 

“I don’t have long. Not if it’s as bad as I think it is,” he groaned, “I think there’s something lodged in shoulder. Can’t reach it. Something sharp, actually. Do you think—could we go inside? It’s awfully cold.” The last bit came out more as a mumble, but she had gotten the gist of it. She hesitated only a moment longer, considering the choices before her. Help a man who literally fell out of the sky and whom she barely even knows—not to mention his life is hanging in the balance; or back off and leave him to his untimely fate. The second option sounded too cruel to her; much less, she didn’t think she’d be able to live with herself. After all, the man hadn’t tried to harm her. He’d done nothing of the like, in fact. With this in mind, she made her decision.

 

“Yes; no one’s here, so that’s good. Oh, what about your police box?”

“She can handle herself for now.”

 

She held her hand out, and when he gripped hers, she wrapped her fingers around his hand and pulled. He slowly got to his feet, swayed slightly. Already, she saw him pitching forward, but before he could fall, she took his good arm in hers and in this fashion, helped him walk to the stairs.

 

“Stairs, just a warning,” she commented as they approached. The descent was painfully slow; once his foot had slipped and he’d almost lost his footing.”Whoa, steady. Almost there,” she whispered as they continued. She spotted the restroom on her right hand side halfway down the hall. She propped him up against a wall and started to walk towards the open door. “Hold on; got to check something. Don’t. Move,” she admonished, pointing a finger at the Doctor.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he panted, barely giving her so much as a nod. She flashed him a quick smile before dashing off to check that the room was empty. To her satisfaction, it was. “Coast’s clear. On your feet then,” she directed, offering her hand in assistance. He waved it away and managed on his own to get back on his feet. It was when he took a step forward that he took her hand to steady himself. She led him inside and had him lean against the wall for a short while as she left shortly and returned, pulling with her a chair from the adjacent room. She had him sit down while she closed the door and rifled through a cabinet, searching for a first aid kit.

 

He’d begun to unbutton his suit jacket and pull off his tie. He was unbuttoning his shirt when she returned with her supplies. As he worked to pull the ruined shirt off, she caught a glimpse of a growing red splotch on his shoulder. She bit her lip as an ominous feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. He tossed the stained shirt in the pile of discarded clothing and glanced over his shoulder as best he could to look at the wound. Where she sat gave her a better vantage point of the extents of said injury.

As he had said, the wound sat just above the space between his left shoulder blade and spine. Blood trickled sluggishly from the site of the injury. “This shirt’s already done for, yeah?” She gingerly picked the shirt up off the floor and used it to wipe away some of the blood. That elicited a groan from him, to which she gave a quiet, “Sorry!” Once she’d cleared enough of it away, she was able to get a look at the wound and sucked in a breath, wincing as she did so. It looked as if something had been thrust into his shoulder and was broken off. She surmised this from observing the jagged end of the foreign object.

 

“Well? Is it bad?”

“I should think so. You’ve got something sharp and broken lodged between your left shoulder blade and your spine. How? You said you had a slim chance of survival. I see that now; judging by the location, it’s close to your heart,” she remarked with a note of worry coloring her tone as she started the water running to give it time to warm up.

 

“One of them, yes. The tip of it, the projectile or the foreign object is—at least it feels as if it’s moving closer,” he said in reply and gave a tired sigh. “If it continues, I won’t be able to regenerate. No pressure.” She dipped a rack under the warm stream of water and began to wash the blood from his wound. As she did so, she could better see the end of the object, sticking out an inch or so.

 

“You mean you have more than one? Doctor, you might want to hold onto something. This is definitely going to hurt,” Clara said slowly as she thought of just exactly how she was going to remove the object.

“Must have rendered me unconscious when I received the injury; I don’t remember the circumstances surrounding it,” he muttered. “And yes, I’ve got two. Long story, Miss Oswald.”

“Clara, please. Well, promise me this. Live and tell me that story; I love stories. Deal?”

“Deal. Now, if you would be so kind?”

 

Taking the damp rag, she draped it over her fingers and gingerly gripped the protruding end of the object. He was biting his tongue to keep shut, but she still heard a grunt—not that she minded. This was going to hurt, after all. She tightened her three-finger grip on it and pulled as hard as she dared. Slowly, the object slid out of his body, inch by agonizing inch. He gave a short cry when she’d removed the thing, which was now dripping dark red liquid. Clara laid the bloody thing on the sink. Then, she grabbed a fistful of dressings from the first aid kit. She dabbed at the wound again with the damp cloth until the bleeding had abated and pressed a fresh bandage over it, smoothing her hands over it and the muscles of his shoulder. She wiped away any other remaining blood and laid the rag too, on the sink.

 

“There. Think I just saved your life,” said Clara, flashing a light smile. The Doctor looked over his shoulder, flexing it just a little. He smiled too and dipped his head in a nod. As she turned away to clean up, his hand shot out and captured hers. Startled, she turned and looked at him with slightly raised brows. The Doctor lifted his gaze to hers before inclining his head and saying, “I owe you my life, Clara.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Remember that. That’s important.” Her cheeks flushed with warmth, and she allowed herself a soft smile, only withdrawing her hand when he gently let go of it and reached for his clothes.

 

“Hey, you lived and you still owe me that story,” she said. “Those are dirty anyway; you can probably borrow—“

“Thank you, but I can probably find something myself. Right! That’s what I’ll do. Clara Oswald, come along and I’ll tell you a story,” said the Doctor. He dashed out the door, not bothering to wait for her. Clara, left in the middle of a mess, looked about her with a thoughtful frown then back towards the Doctor running down the hallway and hopping up the steps to the roof. He was getting out of her sight, and she reasoned if she waited any longer, he’d be gone. The mess would have to wait, she decided as she ran after him.


End file.
